Gene Wong had a choice, Dr. Goldstein explained to him as she strapped him into the chair.
“You can help us predict THEIR next move or,” she winked and brandished a syringe. It was like a bad written sci-fi novel, Gene thought, full of cliches. But, his very cold bare ass glued to the pleather [because the company was committed to appearing Eco-friendly].
His eyes darted around the crowded room. “Wait-wait!”
Martin, the smarmy bastard, sneered at him. “We haven’t got time for you to jerk off first Wong.”
“Tell your blow up doll I said hi then,” Gene snapped back.
One of the other white coats held Martin in check as Gene continued to plead. “I need more time.”
“Well time is one commodity we don’t have Dr.”
Gene shook his head. “I just want to make sure I see the right pattern! That’s all. What if I get it wrong, we die right?”
Silence. “Do you have an antidote?”
“Yeah, kill the bastard.”
Martin rubbed his eyebrows. “SOMEONE already thought of that Goldstein. That’s why Wong is here, he’s the best option we have?”
Gene furrowed his eyebrows. “What about Furhman? Ridya? Katdare?”
“Dead. Dead. Missing,” Goldstein said, ticking off her gnarled fingers.
Gene swallowed, looked up at the metal helmet hovering above him. “Are you sure about this, isn’t there?”
Martin motioned to Goldstein, and Gene heard a click.
The white coats maneuvered to their battle stations as the helmet dropped into place. Gene shut his eyes, hopefully not for the last time.
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